What's Mine Is Yours To Make Your Own
by Capricornus152
Summary: AU!future fic. Cagefighting Crixus walks down a New York street one morning and falls irreversibly, irrevocably in love. Crixus/Naevia.


**Title: What's Mine Is Yours To Make Your Own**

**Pairing: Crixus/Naevia**

**Word Count:**

**A/N: Based on the idea of an AU of S:BAS based in the modern day. Title comes from "Look After You" by The Fray.**

**Summary: Crixus spots her coming out of a coffee shop one bleary Manhattan morning and falls in love. All-consuming, true, eternal love. And she passes him by in the street.**

Crixus has no illusions about what he is. He's aware that he's nothing more than a brute - a slab of man whose destiny and soul purpose in life was to hurt, to maim, to kill. And to be honest, Crixus has no real worries about that condemning fact.

The bars he fights in are never more than working class - because even lower middle-class bars don't have large cages built into the basements - and Crixus doesn't give a shit because he gets to bawl out his frustration via his fists and feet and very occasionally his head, depending on how much he drunk the night before.

The girls are easy and warm bodies for the night and Crixus leaves their cheap, messy apartments before they awaken. It's not exactly the ideal life - but it's enough for now. Or at least that's what he manages to tell himself.

Then his next fight is in downtown Manhattan - some seedy Irish bar that's never seen ownership by a genuine native of the Emerald Isle - and Crixus ends up kicking the shit out of the guy he's fighting against. Cagefighting is a simple art, he often thinks - you use that little survivalist instinct inside of you and make him work until he's ready for war, angry or not.

He ends up falling asleep on a couple of bar stools, head propped up against the wooden end of the bar and sleeps terribly as a result. Head pounding, mouth dry. He feels like shit.

Crixus emerges onto the street and pulls on his jacket, mentally debating whether or not to head home to his apartment now or get a coffee. The smell of freshly ground coffee from a cafe just around the corner is tempting, awakening his booze-dulled brain.

Then it happens.

He's halfway into the doorway of the cafe when the door opens and a girl steps out. Olive skin and dark hair curled into a ponytail. Brown eyes that sparkle like stars.

She's absolutely fucking perfect.

Crixus stops dead, letting her pass. She smiles at him, briefly, fleetingly and that's it. Crixus feels something hot and bright and foreign bloom like a supernova in his chest.

He falls irreplacably in love.

He's never even had feelings like this before - and that's wrong even on Crixus' cynical mindfield. He's had girlfriends from time to time, more for the sex and the booze than anything else and he's had more one-night stands and adrenaline-fuelled fucks than he can honestly remember.

But this girl... he doesn't even know her name and he's in love.

He spots her at the cafe the next morning when he ventures over. Crixus heads inside, trying not to attract too much attention to himself. Well, as much attention as a muscular, heavily beaten and bruised six foot plus guy can avoid glances.

Over the next few days, he spies her ordering the same thing: two coffees, one a skinny, fat-free latte thing with a teeny shot of vanilla that the good-natured barista agrees to, even though she looks embarrassed to order it, and the other a caramel, whipped cream monstrosity of a coffee that he's pleased to see she drinks. Occasionally there's a brownie or a muffin or something but Crixus is too busy checking out the hair that curls out the nape of her neck to worry too much.

It's only when she leaves that he realises that the second coffee - the boring, dull, latte one - is probably for her boyfriend. He glowers to himself and bites into his sandwich.

He eventually learns her name is Naevia and she's the personal assistant to some fashion editor here in Midtown. Although in his defence, he only learns that as a result of becoming friendly with Naevia's favourite barista, some guy named Brennan from Albany. Crixus would worry 'bout Naevia hitting on her but Brennan's gay and he gives him great advice so he's a pretty cool guy in Crixus' book.

Brennan tells him stuff like Naevia's favourite book (_Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day_) and that she grew up in a small part of Brooklyn. He falls a bit more in love.

Then one morning, she walks in, after her normal time and flops down on the puffy, overstuffed couch next to Crixus. She lends him an apologetic smile.

"Bad day. Sorry." Crixus shrugs.

"We all have them." He offers placatingly. Crixus smiles and turns towards her, offering her from the bag of candy that Brennan seems intent on leaving near him whenever he looks hungry.

Naevia offers him a warm smile and takes a couple of Reese's Pieces in her cool grasp. She takes one and relaxes. Crixus musters the courage to speak up, dregging the depths of his mind and soul to address her.

"Wanna talk about it?" Crixus offers. Hopefully.

Naevia looks at him, calculating and sweet at the same time. And then she nods lightly and proceeds to tell him about her hellish day and Crixus feels as though God is smiling down on him.

That's how it all starts: they meet in the cafe every morning, even if just for a greeting as Naevia gets her boss' coffee. Sometimes, mostly on the weekends, she comes in as Crixus recovers from his wounds from the night before.

She's a part-time student at NYU, doing some kind of course that seems to involve trying to help people out. She even fucking volunteers at a shelter - Crixus' conscience crawls up like a snail in its shell. He rarely even donates to the beggars in the street, let alone give up his time to help the helpless.

In return, she asks to see his battle scars - Naevia claims that coming from a family of brothers, she's used to fighting and the scars of men. He shows her the bruises and once, after a couple of drinks during Brennan's late night shift on a rainy Friday, he bares his chest.

Light, cool fingers gently trace across the criss-cross of scars that tell the story of a hundred bare-fisted cage fights. She doesn't judge - just makes sure that any major wounds he has are treated (he refuses to go to a hospital - the smell and the feel of them make him feel sick) and offers him an ear when the desolation dead-endedness of his career path appears true.

It's something that he's never really experienced growing up. His dad's a mystery to him and his mom left him in some halfway house when he hit high school, heading for the bright lights of Las Vegas. Crixus has had to learn to stay tough and depend on himself - training himself to not make attachments.

Having Naevia stroll into his life and pretty much alter it after twenty years of disappointment is disconcerting to say the least.

One night, he's about to get into the ring in some pretentious half-Japanese, half-Brooklyn bar's basement against someone he knows he can't beat. The guy's name is Dobronov, a seven foot Russian who seems to be made out of fucking muscle, bone and steel and hasn't lost a fight in three years. To say that he thinks he's screwed isn't an exaggeration.

He steps into the ring and hears the bayings of the crowd. All that he hopes is that he doesn't end up with broken teeth or a concussion this time around - maybe he'll get KO'd pretty quick and get to spend the night getting first aid from Naevia.

And then Crixus thinks that Dobronov must have knocked him out pretty quickly because he's seeing Naevia.

She's in the crowd, talking quietly to Brennan beside her who's checking out the half-naked guys in the arena waiting area. This bar's got a decent system in place, Crixus recalls from the back of his mind as he stares agape at Naevia.

Naevia, standing in the half-darkness of the underground fighting area, hair tied up and wearing some blue and white top that makes her look amazing and the purple scarf he's picked up from the floor of the cafe more times than he can remember.

She looks radiant, amazing.

He barely notices when the match starts. And when the first round's over, he sees her closer to the cage. He grins at her, sipping from the water bottle he brings.

And then he sees one of the sleazy regulars checking her out and heading over - the women here are few and far between and one as mind-meltingly gorgeous and sweet as Naevia... it's an impossibility. Other guys have been eyeing her up but are aware that Crixus has... 'first dibs' as he would have called it. Not that they've even... kissed or anything.

This guy's obviously a dick or a moron. Or both. And even though he knows Naevia doesn't belong to him, that she's gonna tell this guy to leave, white-hot possessive jealous rage bubbles in his chest.

Crixus turns back to Dobronov, scowl in place. Dobronov smirks and sends a punch flying. It doesn't connect.

It shocks the fuck outta everyone five minutes later when Dobronov's lying out cold on the floor of the arena and Crixus is the one striding out, head high and heading straight for Naevia.

"What are you doing here?" It's gentle and pleasantly surprised and Crixus' hand finds itself curling around Naevia's waist. She looks at him, smiling innocently as the baying for the next match starts.

"I thought it'd be nice to see you work." She says lightly. "God knows I don't agree with it. But it's what you do so... plus Brennan thought there'd be hot guys here, so it'd be cruel not to come."

Crixus smirks. Brennan is getting some scary, predatory looks from a handful of the guys and he knows that if he leaves Brennan, there's a very good chance he'll wake up the next morning with something more than a good lay behind him.

"Thanks. Guess you're my good luck charm, now, huh?" Crixus smiles over at her as he presses a towel to where the skin on his cheek had split. Naevia takes his arm in hers as they leave, Crixus pulling a disgruntled Brennan behin them.

They end up tucked away in some twenty-four hour diner that does amazing pizza and terrible coffee. He and Brennan end up having a 'hilarious' debate about the virtues of 'LOST' versus 'The Unit' (apparently Crixus' argument of "Dude, there's _guns_" makes no real sense) and they end up crashing at Brennan's apartment after Brennan decides that beer at his place is a good idea - which it inevitably is.

Crixus wakes up, somewhere comfy - he guesses it's the couch - and with Naevia using him as a pillow. Brennan winks at him from the kitchen and chuckles, going back to cooking their breakfast. Crixus' smile threatens to split his face.

Then one night, when Naevia drags him to see a horror movie, it happens. Something that breaks and shifts the axis they've been residing on. He offers to get the popcorn as she grabs the tickets and he's just heading back with the jumbo-size bucket and a Diet Coke when he spots Naevia and some guy.

Jealousy curls cold and ugly in his stomach. He's come to think of Naevia as being _his_ as she spends pretty much all of her free time with him - she mentions a couple of girlfriends once or twice but that's it - and she's seen his crappy, very messy apartment and he's seen hers and the three of them have gone out for drinks on a regular basis.

But this guy, he's not one of her friends, not even an affectionate old boyfriend - even Crixus can tell this. He's grabbing viciously onto her forearm and whispering things that look sinister and threatening and before Crixus is even aware of it, he's racing over to them.

"What's going on here?" He asks and the guy shivers a little. Crixus is used to using that tone whenever things hit the fan. Naevia sends him a look, clearly meant to deter and leave the situation alone. Normally it'd work - but the guy's fingers are digging bruises into Naevia's arm and the angry rage that only comes during a fight comes bellowing out.

"This ain't your situation, meathead." The guy manages, tightening his grip even more. "So just move on."

"Crixus," Naevia says, touching her shoulder with his hand. The normal respite and pleasure it brings dissolves in the pool of boiling acidic rage he's feeling. "don't worry about me, okay? It's just... something I have to deal with."

The guy looks pissed beyond belief - and the people around them, going past their little confrontation to see the new Robert Downey Jr movie are giving them dark, worried looks - and then something clicks behind his eyes.

And he slaps Naevia full in the face.

It's not a hard slap - more a demonstrative, stinging one that shocks more than it hurts - but it's more than enough to wrench the guy away from Naevia and within seconds, he's on the ground being pummeled senseless by Crixus.

A minute later, he stands and sees the crowds surrounding him. The guy's bleeding and out cold but not injured or worse and Naevia's staring at him like he's just changed shape in front of her and she can't quite believe it.

Crixus turns and flees before his mind can catch up with him.

Around two in the morning, Crixus manages to stop watching reruns of _The Shield_ and drinking beer to actually comprehend what he's done. Again.

He's blown any chance he had with Naevia. She's seen him fight but that for money, a necessary evil to put cash in his pocket. Never seen him lose it for something unrelated. And the look she'd given him... Crixus cracks open another bottle to dull the memory.

There's a knock at the door and Crixus glares at it. A visit from his landlord - or worse, a judgemental, pissed Brennan - is something he doesn't need right now. But the knocking continues and Crixus eventually hauls himself off his ratty threadbare couch and opens the door.

Naevia's stood there. Looking a mixture of emotions and wrapping her arms around herself against the cold wind that comes from the open window in the corridor. Crixus can see the trail of goosebumps along her bare arms along her tee shirt and wants to bring her into the relative warmth of the apartment but there's the whole 'punched-a-random-guy' elephant standing in the room.

"Hi." He manages, swallowing heavily. His tongue seems to have grown to twice its size, choking the words he wants to say like _I'm sorry_ and _I want you_. _I need you, be mine..._

"Hey." She replies softly, tugging the beanie from her hair, sending a cascade of midnight-dark hair down her back. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah... sure." He stands aside, letting her in and mentally cracking himself over the head for the dozen or so crushed beercans beside the couch and the sight of Michael Chiklis swearing on the TV. The smell of vanilla trails behind her like an afterimage and Crixus can't help but breathe in instinctively.

She sits down on the couch and Crixus realises that Naevia isn't mad - or at least doesn't look it. She looks... contemplative. Sober.

"Crixus... I thought you deserved to know about the man who..."

Crixus snorts. "The guy I beat the shit out of? What about him?"

Naevia nods, turning next to him on the couch. "He... he was my ex-boyfriend. It was over for a long time - a year or so - but I always worried that I'd bump into him again."

She takes a shaky breath, then continues. "He used to beat me. And eventually... I had to get out of that situation. But when I saw him at the cinema... that's why he slapped me."

Crixus touches her cheek softly with a tenderness he's surprised he even possesses. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice is broken, rough. How anyone could have done this, hurt her like that... it doesn't even comprehend in his brain, it's that distressing.

Naevia leans into his touch, closing her eyes against the tears he can see coming. "Thank you. I... I don't agree with what you did but I can understand why you did it."

And then she leans forward and presses her lips softly against his.

It's... Crixus can't even really think. All that he can feel is the warm, sweet press of her mouth and finds his arms pulling her into his lap. It's intoxicating and perfect and his hands cup her face as they kiss langorously.

She doesn't cry again.

From then on, Crixus found things getting a fuckload better - as in, his life actually became a life. Brennan got him to socialise and even join this unorganised football thing at his friend Spartacus' bar across from the cafe. Spartacus and his wife Sura are pretty awesome and they end becoming fast friends with Naevia and Sura and Naevia's friend Mira watching them from the sidelines with drinks as they play football.

Naevia's pretty much his driving force those first few awkward weeks; she cleans his apartment and makes him socialise when he feels like shit and just wants to stay in his apartment with Naevia and beer. He even ends up volunteering once a week at some kids thing and ends up finding himself a shadow in the form of an adorable, sweet seven year old who makes him play tea party and Buffy without skipping a beat.

Four months later, Crixus and Naevia move in together - her place is bigger than his and overlooks Manhattan and there's even a rooftop garden on her apartment block. Soon he stops the irrational fear that his long, clumsy limbs and big brutish hands and feet will knock stuff over and that Naevia will get pissed at him.

She's just... perfect. They go out and then when Crixus is exhausted, she orders in the pizza he likes and makes him laugh with her sometimes-scathing commentary on whatever NFL game's on. The sex is... Crixus doesn't want to jinx it, it's that good.

He stops the fighting - or at least as much as he does. Spartacus' brother Varro is the head of some construction company, a small outfit near Brooklyn, and he gets a job there and it's good. Crixus has always been good with his hands.

One night, Naevia takes him out to the cafe and the group of them drink and play poker and have fun and sing to bad cheesy pop music. And Crixus takes Naevia in his arms and they dance and Crixus smiles. It's a good life.

_Fin._


End file.
